


The Halls of Mandos

by Elenedhel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Other, each chapter has a central characters, i just want to show all the dead people living in our world, will add more characters with time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3577881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenedhel/pseuds/Elenedhel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern Silmarillion AU. Halls os Mandos is an old building in central London. Its habitants are distinguished in that they are all actually dead. Or they should be if not for The Agreement between them and the Powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fëanor growled. The sun's rays entered through the window cracks making him change positions of the coach. He tried ignoring the fact that once again he had been robbed of his sweet unconsciousness. He simply hated Sunday mornings.

He now lived alone and was given the luxury of staying in that state, ignoring the will of his body as he succumbed to the appeals of the mind. His determination had always been praised and criticized at the same level, but it was his most important quality. Fëanor needed to control himself using the same determination that had made him the greatest of the Noldor.

This urge appeared especially after the Agreement.

He could not remember the details or the new laws that he had agreed with a year ago, but he started having dreams of his former life. These dreams inflicted him with the pain of separation and regret, and yet he still longed for them. Fëanor did not care to have his pride hurt in exchange for a few nights of peace.

\---------------------------  
"I love you."

Nerdanel smiled. She knew this was the most passionate way he found to express the happiness he felt at the news brought to him.

"I love you." He repeated with a firmer voice, past the initial shock.

Nerdanel continued to smile sweetly at him, her expression showed everything she felt. The lady was never able to hide her feelings and did not hesitate to give her opinion on a subject when she thought necessary. The opposite of her husband.

"Are there other words you want to tell me? Being the genius that you are, I expected a little more of eloquence." she teased.

"Nerdanel..." Fëanor was fully aware that he was making a fool of himself, however, his brain processed the feelings so quickly that his tongue could only weakly convey what he felt.

He took her in his arms and prayed that this gesture would show his wife the happiness that took his whole being. He thought he would never be able to feel that again. The ecstasy in his fëa was inexplicable and absolute.

Little did he know that he would experience the same thing six more times  
\---------------------------  
This particular dream always left him angry for the rest of the day. He was able to relive that feeling only for the time of awakening before the emptiness could fill him whole again making him realize that it was only a memory.

He wanted to be affected by worldly events. He wanted the impact. He longed for anything that could have provided a stimulus to make him remember that he had once been a storm.

Unable to return to his dream, he rose from the couch but did not move. He stood still next to his temporary bed with his eyes closed.

Fëanor always postponed this moment.

It was as if he could still cling to the last of Vairë's tapestries that told his story and the minute he opened his eyes, it would dissolve, untwining the embroidery and turning it into nothing more than loose threads.

With a resigned sigh he slowly opened his eyes, imposing on them the sight of the apartment. It was dark and empty.

Just like its occupant


	2. Chapter 2

What had he become? No longer the same shade he used to be, for sure. No. It would be necessary to ignore a multitude of mistakes to win back that title.

His head down enabled him to see the bright figures below. He had, once again, been hiding there, stuck in his comforting atmosphere that only the highest places could offer. He closed his eyes for a moment for the memories had become very intense.

He did not want to remember. He was tormented by it every day since the desertion of his mission.

____________________________________________________________________

_ You have a choice.

_ No.

Nobody could tell if Maglor was stating his choice or answering Eonwe. It was always difficult to understand his words, so it was with no great surprise that people noted later his departure from the Valinorian camp.

Maglor was gone.

_____________________________________________________________________

No, he did not like to remember yet he could not prevent the trouble that afflicted him. His torments were what linked his old life with his new reality.  
With a sigh, Maglor moved away from the edge of the building. The place was heaven and hell. He had found it by chance in one of his nocturnal wanderings; head too full to sleep. He had walked aimlessly for a while until he found himself in front of the large dark wooden door. The Hall of Mandos. It did not seem appropriate for the place, surrounded by dubious establishments frequented by people of questionable morality.

However, he never managed to get in, and his knowledge about it was limited to outside. When he was affected by the need to remember, he would climb the fragile scaffolding of the side up to the roof. When up there, his memories would become too much, reaching the limit that his soul had imposed him.  
It was enough.

He was there for some time and felt increasingly exhausted. He went toward the scaffolding and made the slow descent. Upon reaching the ground he was about to continue his journey when something caught his attention. The hotel's doors opened for the first time. First he saw the wallpaper – a golden pattern on a dark background - and a rich red carpet, which did not surprise him. The interior proved worthy of the hotel's façade which was definitely too elegant for the neighborhood.

However, what intrigued him the most was the figure that opened the door. Dark, tall and pale, he had long dreads that reached his waist. He wore clothes that definitely did not belong to him as the shirt came almost to his knees and the trouser's hem was rolled up several times to allow him to walk without the risk of stepping on it.

The man bent down, ignorant of Maglor's presence, picked up the newspaper that had been left that morning at the door. He looked at the main page and a sigh escaped his lips. He had almost entirely closed the massive wooden door when he heard the voice of his observer.

\- Findekáno?

**Author's Note:**

> I finnaly got a beta and I want to thank her for helping me with this. Thanks, Galad Estel!


End file.
